


Back from the Brink

by conquerorofheaven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ... hopefully, Abuse, Character Study, Harry hates everyone, Horcruxes, I guess that's good, M/M, Mind Links, No Bashing, Sirius Black Lives, That's not really his fault though, Unbiased, Voldemort's not insane anymore, a really in depth one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:28:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conquerorofheaven/pseuds/conquerorofheaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Voldemort hasn't been entirely sane.  The horcruxes weren't his best idea and he's been suffering the consequences.  Luckily, that stunt he pulled at the Ministry set him on the path of recovery.  Using the newly discovered mind link between himself and the Boy-Who-Lived Voldemort intends to repair all the damage he caused.</p><p>Meanwhile, Harry is feeling more betrayed than ever.  Will he ever learn to trust again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Possession

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time posting a fanfiction. I have a some other stuff written, but this is my first time posting any of it on a site. Thus, feedback is appreciated. I'm not so fragile that I'll break at any sign of criticism, so go wild as long as it's constructive. 'This sucks' or 'this is great' doesn't really help me improve.
> 
> Also I edit this stuff myself. If you catch any mistakes let me know, otherwise I'll be rereading it and making a changes as I go.

Clarity

Voldemort hadn’t felt this clearheaded in _decades_. It was so drastic a change that he wanted to sigh in relief from the impact of the transition. But he resisted. For in that brief moment Voldemort realized that he had spent the better part of his reign as a crazed and raving _lunatic_.

Quickly, he pushed aside such musings. There would be time to dwell on that later. For now he needed to discover the source of this newfound sanity before he was thrust back into that endless limbo. He reviewed his recent memories with all the efficiency and finesse of a master Occlumens immediately coming across a new wave of images that were not his own.

_A large man, purple from rage and barreling towards him. An ugly horse faced woman ignoring the impending abuse. That buffoon Hagrid knocking down the door of a shack in the midst of a storm. Gratitude. Such hope and gratitude._

Voldemort pulled himself out of the memory and organized his thoughts. He immediately came to the obvious conclusion, but still tried with all his might to deny it. The Dark Lord had just been in the mind of one Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and undeniably his arch nemesis. But that boy’s mind had just brought back his own.

Had Voldemort not been above such things as regret, he may have broken at the realization that the boy destined to be his downfall was now the only thing currently preventing him from spiraling back into that pathetic husk that he had been mere moments ago. In fact, a lesser man certainly would have broken, of that he was sure. Regardless, the Dark Lord was no lesser man and there simply wasn’t _time_ for regret.

Having been pushed out the boy’s mind his tentative hold on sanity immediately began slipping. Voldemort made the connection fast enough. He needed the boy to remain sane, at least for the time being. So he did the only thing he could do, he pushed back into the boy’s mind and grasped their connection with all his might.

This was much more subtle, though. Not the crass bludgeoning he had indulged in before. No, Voldemort was a master Legilimens and the boy had almost no such training. It was a simple matter to slip into the back of the boy’s mind and remain inside the folds of his subconscious undetected. 

He left the one way connection open, giving him access to the boy’s emotions, which would grant him the much needed clarity. He sucked in a tense breath as he felt the effects of the foreign emotions grounding him.

_Fear. Anger. Guilt. Hatred._

Voldemort wondered who the Golden Boy could possibly hate with such intensity. Then he remembered the boy had been attempting to Crucio Bellatrix when he arrived. He probably would have succeeded as well had they not been interrupted by Dumbledore and his oh-so-just crusade.

The thought that the Gryffindor had some skill in the Dark Arts made him smirk, thus terrifying his now arriving followers. Voldemort looked down from this throne and sneered at their cowering, internally debating the benefits of continuing to act insane. He came to the conclusion that it would be useful for controlling his outer circle if they thought he would Crucio them at any given moment, but he was reluctant to pretend with his Inner Circle.

Despite their failures they were his most trusted members and he had known many of them for the majority of their lives and had even personally trained some of them. They all had some level of influence that he was reluctant to dismiss. Revealing his new mental stability would go a long way towards ensuring the loyalty of those that may have strayed during his long absence. 

He heard the telltale signs of apparition as the last of his Inner Circle arrived in the Chamber. Slowly standing from his throne he thought about how best to convey his displeasure.

“Those that participated in the mission, step forward.”

Lucius, Bellatrix, and ten others came forwards. Most of them maintained a modicum of dignity, but their eyes betrayed their fear.

“You 12 were given a very simple mission. Retrieve the prophecy from the boy.” His red eyes burned in anger. He was grateful for this newfound clarity, but he had never had any patience for incompetence and he was certainly not about to _thank_ them.

“I even did you the kindness of luring the boy there.” Voldemort spoke softly as he glided towards Lucius eliciting flinch from the man. “And where is the prophecy now Lucius?”

Lucius valiantly tried to conceal his fear. Briefly, Voldemort found himself enraged at his own treatment of his Inner Circle that would have them trembling at the mere sight of him. He would have to rectify that.

“My lord, the prophecy—it was destroyed.” Voldemort’s eyes narrowed as he swept passed the rest of his Death Eaters. He stopped and focused on the only one that was quite visibly shaking.

“Avery. Tell me what you think the punishment should be for your failure.”

Avery, he remembered, was one of his most zealous members, not nearly as sniveling as Wormtail, but still especially sycophantic. Avery seemed to desperately be trying to conjure a way to leave the meeting alive. He opened his mouth as a response tumbled clumsily out. “My-my lord, please allow us to repay the d-debt of our failure.” 

The Dark Lord almost smiled, but managed to repress the grin threatening to break out on his face. Ah, he had missed this, the manipulation, the mind games. There had been no subtlety before, merely actions akin to the most childish of tantrums. This way was much more effective. This way they had made the suggestion themselves. However, a point still needed to be made.

Immediately the 12 members fell to their knees in pain. A few screamed, some just grit their teeth and bore the pain. It had been a long time since the Dark Lord had manipulated the mark for anything other than calling his followers. It was, honestly, a marvel of magic, and people tended to forget its many other functions. Now that the Dark Lord was at full capacity he intended to use his mark to its fullest effect. Another minute passed before the pain was released, instantly drawing gasps and whimpers of pain from his downed followers.

“At the very least you all managed to avoid being caught. Had you been arrested and inadvertently revealed my return to the Ministry, then I would have made my displeasure known much more… overtly.” The Dark Lord paused a moment and prepared himself for the magnitude of his next revelation. “For this day alone I shall be merciful, for on this day much has changed. You all owe me a debt and this debt _will_ be repaid. Fail me again and you will find my mercy swiftly expiring.” 

He waited to see who would be brave enough to ask the question on everyone’s minds. There was a tense minute of silence when eventually it was Lucius who spoke up. “My lord,” he began cautiously. “If I may ask, to what do we owe your most gracious mercies?” The blonde always was curious.

This time, the Dark Lord did not resist the smirk that appeared on his face. Even for the members of the Inner Circle, it had been a very long time since they had last seen their Lord smile in anything other than sadistic pleasure. This, along with the act of mercy, drew their attention and they all waited in anticipation to hear what had caused the change in their Lord’s demeanor.

Voldemort saw the anticipation of his Death Eaters and was inwardly relieved. They were still faithful. After all this time serving a madman they still looked to him with the same admiration they held when they first joined. Long forgotten emotions swirled through his head and began to fog his mind. He mentally grasped at the connection between him and the boy.

_Anger. Fear. Rage. Despair. Desperation. Anxiety._

For a second he was taken aback by the intensity of the emotions. They were even stronger than they were after the possession. What could have happened between now and then that would affect the boy so. Voldemort dug deeper into the connection and saw an image of that infernal Trelawney with her eyes rolled back.

The Dark Lord’s grin grew impossibly larger.

He had told the boy the prophecy. Dumbledore with all his self-righteous puppeteering had finally been forced to reveal the prophecy to his Golden Boy or risk losing his trust entirely. Voldemort felt the frustration Harry harbored, his anger at being forced to fight while remaining in crippling ignorance. Now that he finally knew the reason for much of the events in his life, the boy would no doubt spend much of his time contemplating the implications.

And Voldemort had access to his thoughts.

“It has come to my attention that I have not been entirely… rational for some time. I appear to have underestimated the effects of some dark rituals on my psyche. But that is of little consequence, because due to a convenient quirk of fate I have finally returned in my entirety, both body _and_ mind.” 

The reaction to the revelation was immediate. Hope and adoration bloomed across the features of his followers as they all processed the words of their Lord.

“In possessing the boy I have forged a connection between our minds, the depth of which he remains unaware. As a result, I know what he knows, and our dear Dumbledore has just seen fit to show his Chosen One the memory of the prophecy.” The careful looks of hope transformed into one’s of malicious glee. The tension in the room dropped and everyone looked towards their Lord, eager to prove themselves.

“Yes, the Light may think this battle was a victory, but they know little indeed. From this day forth the Dark will rise in earnest. Prepare yourselves, for the fall of the Ministry and Hogwarts is approaching, as is a new age.” At the end of his speech a loud battle cry was heard from the Chambers as the most viciously devoted followers of Voldemort found their faith renewed and invigorated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's chapter 2! I'm writing a whole bunch of stories at the same time, so don't expect quick releases for all of them. I have another chapter of this one written, so it should be ready pretty soon. Please feel free to give me suggestions in the comments.

Severus Snape was a complex man. Even before mastering Occlumency, he prided himself on his observation skills, which inevitably he ended up using to spy for both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. While it was the Dark Lord that had marked him, Dumbledore had managed to bind Severus in his own way.

At least with the Dark Lord he had been given a choice.

You see, Severus’ main loyalty was to himself. Ever since he had discovered his love of potions, it was his greatest and only wish to be able to experiment and brew freely. Unfortunately, the frankly inept Ministry kept an annoyingly tight leash on the ingredients available for brewing. That angered Severus.

So what if Belldonna was one of the most poisonous substances on earth, or if Fireroot seeds were highly volatile? What was the point of achieving the youngest Potions Mastery in history if he was still to be treated with the same regard as the dunderheads who blundered through his classes? 

This was at least part of the reason why Severus was carefully considering the implications of what the Dark Lord had just revealed. As a longtime member and highly effective Potions Master, Severus was privy to more privileged information than any other spies Dumbledore’s Order of the Flaming Chickens may have. And what the Dark Lord had just revealed could arguably be the most valuable piece information he could ever report.

But what would that mean for Severus? He was nothing if not self-preserving. He was a Slytherin after all. What would it mean for the Light side to win? More of the status quo, he thought.

Severus hated the current status quo. In fact, if it were at all possible he would throw the blasted status quo into one of Neville Longbottom’s cauldrons and watch the fireworks from afar. 

But his next actions would require finesse and several careful choices. The Dark Lord claims to have returned to sanity, possibly via the newly forged connection to the Potter spawn’s mind. The boy’s pathetic attempts at Occlumency were unlikely to ever fully repel the Dark Lord and that was assuming he even noticed the connection. No, it was better to assume that the Dark Lord would have full access to the boy’s mind.

He remembered when he first joined the Death Eaters. He had been young and mostly fleeing from the abuse of his father and those thrice damned Marauders. Nevertheless, as soon as he felt the power of his Lord wash over him he knew he could never leave, not completely.

It was addictive, that kind of power. The same could be said of all Dark magic, but the Dark Lord himself seemed to concentrate that power within his own body. The first time he saw him, he felt that power flow over him and leave him breathless. The Dark Lord’s red eyes seemed to look right through his newly erected Occlumency shields and penetrate his mind on the deepest level. How could he ever betray the man that had taken him in, provided him with a place to brew freely, and taught him more than he had ever learned while at Hogwarts?

Then Severus had heard the first two lines of a prophecy made in a dingy bar by an incessant fraud and found his life forever changed.

When it was later revealed that the child belonged to none other than James and Lily Potter, Severus found himself at a crossroad. The child, Harry Potter, was going to die. There was no doubt of that. The Dark Lord had deigned to personally kill the boy and anyone that stood in his way, so there was no preventing his death.

But Lily was his muse. They had met as children in the dilapidated neighborhood of Spinner’s End and Lily had been his guiding light ever since. She had seen him at his worse, beaten and bruised by his drunken father, and had never turned away. Severus wasn’t sure if what they had could be called love, for he had never loved anyone before, not even his own mother. Still, even after they had essentially cut all ties, he couldn’t bring himself to imagine life without her; such was the impact of her existence.

In the end, Severus had chosen to swallow his pride and beg his Lord to show mercy to the woman that was his first friend.

It was a meager hope, for his childhood friend was a Mudblood and worse, had defied his Lord on three separate occasions. But against all reason his Lord had taken pity on his new follower and agreed to try and spare the girl.

Severus should have known better, though. No one knows exactly what happened that night except the Dark Lord, but Lily was not the type of person to stand aside and allow her child to be killed.

He knew that now. Nearly 15 years later, the Potions Master had finally come to terms with the fact that regardless of whether or not his Lord had honored his promise, Lily Potter loved her son, and would have done anything to die in his place.

Perhaps it was a similar emotion that his own mother had died for.

Severus quickly pushed that thought aside; there was work to be done. Returning to the ancient halls of Hogwarts, the dark man strode forth towards the headmaster’s office, cloak billowing behind him. Dumbledore would no doubt want to know as much as possible about the Dark Lord’s fallout from the failed mission. The aged man had been hoping to at least capture Lucius Malfoy to reduce the Dark Lord’s growing influence in the ministry. Alas, Lucius was slippery, and quite skillfully managed to avoid capture long enough to escape before the arrival of the Minister.

His Lord had been right about that. It was a stroke of luck that not one of the Death Eaters had been seen let alone captured, leaving what appeared to be Dumbledore, his Order, and several Hogwarts students essentially _playing_ in the Department of Mysteries. Severus inwardly smiled at the Minister’s reaction as he stumbled onto the scene. Accusation flew about and Dumbledore would no doubt have his work cut out trying to cover his own arse while still maintaining the secrecy of his personal vigilante group.

Barely pausing in front of the gargoyle to say the password, _Sugar Snaps_ , Severus continued into the headmaster’s office at his brisk pace only to find the place in ruins.

“Ah Severus my boy, have a seat please. Yes that one will do nicely.” The headmaster gestured towards an overturned chair in front of his desk. Masking his expression carefully he muttered several repair charms and took a seat in the now barely presentable chair. Turning towards the Headmaster he found him smiling cheerfully as though his office did not look like the site of several explosions. 

Papers were scattered about, some bore burn marks. The entire bookshelf had been upended and smashed thoroughly leaving the books about the ground in an ungainly heap. Fawkes appeared to have taken refuge in the corner of the room, along with the sorting hat, as tragedy befell his original perch. All of this lead back to the headmaster who was currently indulging in a bowl of his infernal lemon drops, the only thing remaining atop his once regal desk.

“What have you to report Severus? I’m sure you would like to make this quick so that you may nurse the wounds you no doubt suffered. Tom must have been quite cross that he was unable to obtain the prophecy.”

Only this man could refer to the Dark Lord as though he were a mere petulant child. Despite his relaxed demeanor the Headmaster’s voice sounded tight and strained, as he eyed the dark man before him suspiciously. Severus rapidly went over the story he had finally decided on in his head once more.

“The Dark Lord was not pleased. However, as I was not selected to take part in the mission I managed to avoid the full brunt of his anger.” Severus carefully composed this next part for he knew his delivery would have to be flawless as always.

“It seems that the Dark Lord was… pained by his attempt to possess Potter. He mostly focused on the 12 that failed him.” Dumbledore nodded gravely.

“Yes, I suspected that the sudden exposure to emotions as pure as Harry’s would harm him. Was Lucius Malfoy among those 12?” Severus opened his mouth to say yes, but immediately felt the mark tighten and burn his left arm. Recognizing the effects of a secrecy contract in the mark he repressed a wince of pain and rephrased his answer.

“Lucius Malfoy felt the consequences of his actions.” It had been years since the mark had reacted to betrayal. Once again, the Potions Master found himself considering the Dark Lord’s return to sanity. Apparently, his magic was strengthened as well. It changed little, for Severus had already chosen his side.

“Upon being told the prophecy was destroyed the Dark Lord was enraged. He punished the 12 for their failure” he finished.

Dumbledore looked at him sagely. “It is as I suspected. Tom seems to be experiencing the downsides of the many Dark rituals he performed on himself. He sounds quite mad.” His eyes glimmered in sadness. Whether it was real or not Severus was unsure. The old man was quite the accomplished actor himself. “Such is the price of immortality. It’s a shame. Tom had such potential. I am glad, you are unharmed my boy. Lemon drop?”

Severus wanted to throttle the old coot, but managed to refrain. He had a way of infuriating even the most mild mannered of people with his dithering old man act. It was absurd just how many people looked to him for guidance even while he maintained his grandfatherly façade.

“No thank you. If that is all,” Severus said, trying to contain his disgust, “I would like to know what caused such chaos in your own office of all places.” He was actually curious.

“Ah yes,” for a moment the headmaster actually looked abashed. He hid it quickly though and smiled sheepishly. “It appears young Harry was a little high-strung after the events at the Ministry. It’s nothing you need worry about my boy. He’ll have calmed down by tomorrow.”

The Potions Master sneered at the thought of Potter throwing a temper tantrum. Undoubtedly, he was complaining about his disappointment with the outcome of the battle, the glory-seeking brat!

Severus paused in thought. His Lord had mentioned that Dumbledore had finally revealed the prophecy to the boy. Perhaps that was the cause of such mayhem.

He recalled the few Occlumency lessons he had with the boy, if one could even call them that. The child was rash, arrogant, impatient, and a whole host of other terms that Severus would like nothing more than to list off. Still, he recalled the few glimpses he had managed to catch pertaining to the boy’s muggle family. Despite Dumbledore’s reluctance to reveal the location where the boy spent his summers, Severus thought it would benefit him to have some insight on the matter. Alas, the boy had somehow managed to protect that information more fiercely than anything else inside his pathetic mind. Any attempts to view Potter’s pampered home life were blocked with a ferocity that even he was reluctant to face head on. Severus had wondered what the boy was protecting so viciously that even a master Legilimens such as himself was unable to get anything more than a few glimpses of a cupboard and an unhealthily large man, but he had dismissed it previously. Perhaps it was time to give it more thought.

Severus rose from his seat, giving the room one more disdained glance, before he inclined his head slightly and swept out of the room.

Yes, Severus had made his choice. He was undeniably a dark wizard and he had finally come the conclusion that he had no wish to serve such a pathetically bigoted system. Instead he would gamble on his Lord’s ability to return to his full power, for if he did, the Light wouldn’t stand a chance.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 

Voldemort was sitting in his considerable library studying several books on soul magic, while absentmindedly twirling a small flame across the palm of his other hand. The Ministry, in its ignorance, had long since outlawed soul magic, so Voldemort was reading the few remaining books on the subject. The flame was his way of maintaining his focus and the connection to his own magic.

After he had dismissed his followers, the first thing the Dark Lord did was test his new limits. The changes in his mind had been obvious, but he had wanted to see what boundaries his magic held now. The results were both spectacular, as well as thoroughly depressing.

He could now wield his magic with a finesse that he had long since thought lost. The wandless magic that he had been so proficient in during his childhood had now been returned to him. With the restoration of his mind came a much more intimate connection to his magic than he had ever thought possible.

It was clear that his horcruxes were the cause of his insanity. In splitting his soul so many times he had made it unstable, thus his mind had deteriorated, and his magic had followed. It was a wonder he had managed to last this long.

That was why the Gaunt Lord ring was currently resting on his right middle finger. It was the least protected of his horcruxes and in hindsight it was in a fairly obvious location as well. After reaching the conclusion that he needed to keep his horcruxes nearby, the Dark Lord had immediately set off to retrieve the heirloom. The locket was safe for now; the inferi cave was the closest thing to impenetrable. The cup was safe as well inside Gringotts, according to Bellatrix. He would have retrieved the Diadem next if not for the fact that he wasn’t quite ready to take Hogwarts. While he was uneasy that one of his horcruxes was so close to Dumbledore he would still have to wait to retrieve it.

The close proximity of his soul provided some stability, but it was nothing compared to the clarity he achieved when accessing his connection with the boy. It was a strange thing, that the boy that had caused him so much grief was also his salvation. Temporarily, anyways, he had no intentions of remaining in such a fragile state. Curious, Voldemort reached towards the boy’s mind.

_Fear. Anxiety. Depression. Resignation._

The Dark Lord was mildly surprised at these emotions. By now the boy should have been on the train home where he would be in the care of his supposedly doting muggle family. So why would he show such reluctance to returning home? It was possible that it had something to do with the whale-like man he had seen before.

That brought up another point of annoyance for Lord Voldemort. Despite the efforts of all his Death Eaters, they had been unable to find the location of the boy’s muggle home. If the mental connection maintained his sanity, then he suspected he would probably need the boy to be present in order to perform the ritual that would fully heal his mind. Voldemort’s magic flared in annoyance at this current obstruction drawing the attention of his familiar.

~Massster what ailsss you now~ Nagini slithered across the room and onto Voldemort’s lap, curling her substantial body around his as she made herself comfortable.

~It isss the boy again dear. I would like nothing more than to kill the nuisssance, but now it ssseemsss I need him and I cannot find hisss nessst.~ Voldemort lamented at this fact as he stroked his most precious companion. The snake hissed in contentment; she did like to be spoiled.

Nagini considered her master’s problem for a moment. She was much smarter than a regular snake, and having been with her master for so many years she was empowered by his magic.

~You could asssk the dark man massster. He isss clossse to the sssnakeling, yesss?~

~You are correct my dear. Asss usssual.~ Nagini preened from the praise and curled tighter around her master.

~Why do you call the boy sssnakeling my dear?~ Voldemort was honestly curious. As far as he knew, the only human Nagini had called snakeling before was himself.

~Becaussse he isss a sssnakeling massster. He isss but a young sssnake, jussst as you once were.~ Nagini did the snake equivalent of a shrug and rested her head on her master’s chest, preparing to take a nap.

Voldemort thought about what his familiar said. She tended to be more insightful than any of his Death Eaters, so the Dark Lord actually took the time to listen to her. She had called the boy a snake and said they were similar. Voldemort had always assumed that Nagini called him a snakeling because he was a speaker, but there was no way Harry Potter, the hope of the Light side could be a parseltongue. Right?

The Dark Lord shook his head in frustration. Enough pondering, he used the mark to call Severus Snape and prepared to ream him for answers. Minutes later the Potions Master arrived and bowed deeply before his Lord.

The Dark Lord examined his blank expression that concealed all emotion. Voldemort was unarguably the best Legilimens in the world, but the title of best Occlumens would without a doubt go to Severus Snape. He managed to conceal his intentions from even him. Even with the mark the most he could do was tell whether or not he was lying and the dour man could certainly find ways around that as well. While it made for a great spy, in situations like this it was thoroughly irritating

“Severus, tell me all you know about the boy.” He watched as the dour man froze for a moment, before opening his mouth to speak.

“I am unsure how much help I will be, but I shall tell you what I can, my Lord.” The Dark Lord gestured for him to continue. Hopefully, this would lead to some clues about the boy to whose mind he was now bound.

“In my opinion, the boy is brash, reckless, and foolish. He throws himself into danger with little heed of the consequences and parades around with an arrogance worthy of his father. He is utterly ignorant and—“ Severus had begun ranting at this point and the Dark Lord had to drown him out. How had he not noticed that one of his main spies on the boy was so entirely biased? It would explain how the emotions he’d felt contradicted what he’d been told. He sighed in frustration as he realized he would have to start from the beginning in order to create a proper image of Harry Potter.

“Enough Severus, I am not interested in your opinions of the boy. You and I both know how heavily influenced it is by your views of his father. Just give me the facts. To begin, is the boy a parseltongue?”

Severus would have blushed at his Lord’s admonishment had he less control. Instead he chose to answer his questions to the best of his ability. “Yes my Lord. He revealed the ability in his second year when he spoke to a snake during a duel with Draco Malfoy.”

The Dark Lord processed this information. That would explain why Nagini would view him as a snakeling, but to his knowledge the Potter family had never possessed the trait before. He concluded that it must be unique to the boy and probably had something to do with their connection.

But how did that happen? What kind of connection allowed them to share even hereditary abilities? It was unheard of.

“Parseltongue is usually considered a Dark trait. How did the rest of the school react to the revelation.”

“Revulsion, disgust, the usual one sided childish drivel. Some even claimed that the boy was the next Dark Lord and the Heir of Slytherin.” Voldemort smirked in bitter amusement at that. The light side had thoroughly brainwashed their children and the Ministry insured that there was no counter opinion. It all made him burn to see it fall. He would make sure that no such thing would happen during his reign.

“What was the boy’s reaction to these accusations?”

“Confusion, indignation, the boy started to draw away from his friends and spent more time alone. Running around the school by himself seems to be his solution whenever he is upset.” Severus sneered at the idea of the boy throwing a temper tantrum just because not everyone agreed with him.

“Focus Severus, how often does he withdraw from the other students?” If the boy spent much of his time alone then it would seem that most of his so-called friends knew very little about him.

“The end of the second year, almost his entire fourth year, and this year has been… strange, as well.” The Dark Lord seized upon this new information eagerly.

“What happened in his fourth year and explain what you mean by ‘strange.’”

“After being entered into the tournament almost every student in the school turned on him. They thought he had entered to further his own fame. Harry drew back from even his own House and prepared for the tournament by himself. At the very least, he impressed me by winning the tournament with almost no assistance.

“This year, he has been especially different as well, my Lord.” Voldemort was somewhat baffled by the idea that the boy had somehow managed to compete in a tournament far above his skill level and not only survive, but come out victorious. 

The whole idea was one of his worst plans and he could only conclude that being without a body had further deteriorated his mind to the point that it had seemed like a good idea at the time. He grimaced at the thought that he had been pushed so far. Severus continued.

“After returning from the summer break the Ministry assigned Undersecretary Madam Umbridge to the Defense position. They feared that Dumbledore was creating his own army out of the student body.” The Dark Lord scowled in annoyance at just how true that was. Dumbledore had no qualms about using children to fight his battles, it was shameful.

“He has been uncharacteristically belligerent this year. He antagonized Umbridge, the Slytherins, even many of his friends. At first I thought it was just a case of him lashing out in frustration, but as of recently I am not so sure.” Severus finished speaking uncertainly. Voldemort narrowed his eyes and saw that the man was hiding something. He allowed his magic to cloud around him, heavy and oppressive. Severus paled before finally continuing to speak.

“The boy was suffering from severe nightmares,” he started. The Potions Master finally steeled himself and persisted. “Dreamless Sleep potions had no effect and as far as I could tell he was barely spending any time sleeping, instead wandering about the castle at night. I have yet to uncover his means of remaining unseen.

“Dumbledore requested that I give the boy Occlumency lessons to teach him how to minimize the negative effects of the visions I assume you were sending him, my Lord.” Voldemort was intrigued by this revelation. If Severus had used the usual method, then he must have had ample opportunities to view the boy’s mind. The fact that he was able to lure Potter into the Ministry shows that these lessons must have been unsuccessful, but he wondered if that was entirely unintentional.

“Don’t keep me waiting, what did you see Severus,” the Dark Lord asked impatiently.

“That is the problem my Lord. I was able to see his friends, his frustration with school, even his despair and resignation on matters involving you. But the only thing that he was able to keep from me consistently was any information regarding his muggle relatives. I used every method at my disposal, but the most I was able to glean was that they live somewhere in Surrey.”

He watched as Severus finished speaking, slight frustration on his old student’s features. He knew how capable Severus was at the mind art, so Harry Potter being able to hide anything from him was likely a blow to his pride. Regardless, the dour man had given him much to think about.

He dismissed Severus and went back to pondering the boy and his fascinatingly amorphous attitude. Everything he’d heard about the child would suggest that he is a foolish jock that barely passes his classes; however, he had managed to research and prepare for the Triwizard Tournament alone. It was also obvious that the boy retreated into himself when he felt betrayed and Voldemort had a feeling that he hadn’t really trusted anyone since the incident in his second year.

It would seem that he and the boy had much in common. They both behaved how they were expected to behave before the public, but kept many secrets, especially regarding their home lives.

Tom Riddle had never told anyone about the orphanage, not even his closest followers. His fellow Slytherins had known that he was an orphan, but none of them had even the slightest idea of where he spent his summers. Potter was apparently much the same.

That only served to intrigue the Dark Lord. He had always been an obsessive person and now he was struck with the need to know everything about the boy, especially considering the strange and powerful connection that existed between them. But first, he would find out what was inside the boy’s home that made him so scared to return.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Harry sat on the train staring out the window, unseeing, and utterly silent. His friends had long ago accepted that he was not in a talkative mood when leaving Hogwarts and carried on without him. Ron and Hermione were engaged in a friendly argument that Harry honestly wasn’t listening to at all. He could only think about that last conversation he had with Dumbledore before leaving and what was waiting for him at home.

He sneered at the thought of the old man’s genial expression and obnoxiously twinkling eyes as he told Harry his entire life was due to some prophecy that fucking _Trelawney_ had made, along with the worst new he had ever been given.

Harry mocked Dumbledore’s voice in his head as he recalled his words. _I’m sorry my boy, but with the recent Ministry investigations you must remain with your relatives to protect the secrecy of the Order. And just as last year, your friends will be unable to contact you, for your own safety of course._ He clenched his hands until they turned white. That old coot had never intended to allow Harry to leave the Dursleys; this was just his new excuse.

The worst part was that Harry had trusted him. Even after he had been dismissed when telling the Headmaster about the treatment he had suffered, he still maintained some level of faith in the man.

Well that was gone now. After this year Harry was done. He had been ignored the entire year, just when some proper advice would have been his saving grace, and now he was finished taking orders.

His friends still hung on the man’s every word. Harry looked over at the bickering couple sadly and wondered if they had ever really been his friends. They barely knew anything about him and even if he told them there was no way they could possibly understand. Not with the way they had grown up.

Through all the rage there was still an underlying current of fear that made him keep his head down and fidget nervously.

He was going back. Back to that hell… 

Sirius had promised him that he would be able to stay at Grimmauld Place with him every summer, but considering how he had almost been caught at the Ministry Harry supposed it was out of his hands. It didn’t matter; he had never really believed the man’s promise anyway.

Harry wondered if this would be summer he would finally die. He was interested to know how that would go over. **Boy-Who-Lived Killed by Muggle Relatives** , it would be quite the headline.

He was tired, scared, terrified really, of what would happen. At this point he was wondering if Voldemort was really the worst option.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Voldemort had been scouring his remaining books on soul magic. After his second dozen he had finally come across something useful.

_Horcruxes are unstable magic. The state of one’s mind is directly connected to the state of one’s soul, magic, and even body. Thus, the soul mutilating properties of the horcrux ceremony has been known to have extremely negative effects on practitioners. In the few documented cases of horcruxes the user has been seen to gradually go insane, later losing control of their magic, and in the most extreme cases, develop bodily mutations. This process can be slowed through various means, but there is no known way to prevent the negative effects entirely. It is possible to recover from this damage, but only if the soul is reunited and healed properly. Close proximity with the horcrux will work as a temporary measure, but the mind will continue to deteriorate, albeit at a slower rate…_

Well that settled it. This book confirmed what he had already suspected. The horcruxes had altered his mind, and from the looks of it, his magic and body as well. He had wondered why his body had slowly begun to take on snake-like characteristics, but towards the end of the first war he was too far gone to properly study it.

Regardless, it seemed that the best course of action was to get rid of his horcruxes to prevent any further damage. There were other means of immortality he could use. 

The book hadn’t mentioned anything about cases with multiple horcruxes (probably because Voldemort had been the first one to attempt such a thing), but according to his own research his soul would likely stay unstable until he reabsorbed all the pieces.

He only had the ring with him, but it would have to do for now. At the very least it would buy him some time.

The good news was that the book detailed a spell for the reparation of damaged souls that he could use once he gathered all his horcruxes. The bad news was that there was only one way that he knew of to reabsorb a horcrux.

Remorse

Voldemort grimaced at the thought of pure and genuine remorse, especially, for the murder of his father. His grandparents, perhaps, but the murder of his father, he remembered, had been incredibly satisfying. It would be impossible for him to feel any amount of guilt unassisted, but he happened to know of the Empathy Charm.

The Dark Lord sighed inside of his chambers then sealed the room shut. If he was right, this would likely be excruciating and he did not want anyone to see him in that state.

He took a single bracing breath, pointed his infamous yew wand at himself, and whispered the spell.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

It had been a week since Harry had returned to the Dursleys. It had seemed like business as usual, but eventually the Dursleys had noticed the lack of owls.

Harry had left Hedwig with Hermione knowing he’d be unable to take care of her this summer. Dumbledore had been true to his word and was preventing anyone from contacting Harry as well. The man had even gone a step further and sent a letter to the Dursleys explaining that Harry would be with them for the entirety of the summer and that he should find his own way when it came time to collect his supplies.

Vernon in particular had seized upon this new information and took every opportunity to verbally ream Harry with hateful drivel—how he was a freak even amongst his own kind, an aberration unwanted by friends and family alike.

The teen had always and grit his teeth and allowed his uncle to continue as spittle rained down on his face and he was sent to bed without food. This time was different though.

It was much harder to remain aloof when Harry had been thinking the same things himself lately. As Vernon’s beady eyes narrowed and his words struck his already fragile emotions, Harry found the words leaving his mouth before he had even noticed.

“Shut up, just shut up!” Harry straightened his back and clenched his fists tight enough to draw blood, “you don’t know anything about me. None of you have any right to claim to know the first thing about my friends,” he hissed menacingly.

Vernon turned a particularly unhealthy shade of puce as his bulbous mounds of fat began shaking in anger.

“Boy, I will not have you back talking me in my own house!” The last words were punctuated by heavy blows to Harry’s face. He crumpled to the ground and curled into a ball to prevent some of the incoming damage.

“We took you in off the streets! Gave you food and clothes when others would have left you to rot in an orphanage! Your kind would deserve nothing less!” Vernon proceeded to kick his ribs viciously. Harry concentrated on preventing any breaks. He wasn’t sure even he could heal a punctured lung.

“I should have thrown you out with the rest of the trash the day you first darkened our doorstep you little FREAK!” Harry’s morbidly obese uncle bellowed the last words as he grabbed the boy by his hair and dragged him across the room.

Harry was vaguely aware of where he was heading. Apparently, Vernon didn’t care whether or not he was being watched anymore. The next moment he was brutally thrown into the cupboard, gaining further bruises, and heard multiple locks fall into place.

He lay, curled tightly into a ball as he would no longer fit normally, pressing his head into the floor. Why did he have to talk back? It was always worse when he spoke. Why did he feel the need to defend friends that had never bothered to defend him?

Harry examined his injuries: one cracked rib, a broken left wrist, and several bruises in various places. It could have been worse. He sighed knowing that he probably wouldn’t be leaving the cupboard for at least a few days.

It was dark as always. The threadbare cloth that he had used as a blanket was still there. He welcomed the dust and spiders like old friends. The space smelled heavily of blood and sweat, but Harry hardly noticed. It was a familiar scent.

His magic worked at healing his injuries like it always had; he would have certainly died long before today had it not. While it did that, Harry took the time to think. He may be a Gryffindor, but the hat had originally wanted him in Slytherin for a reason.

It had only been a week and the beating was already this bad. He doubted he would survive the summer if he remained in this godforsaken house. He needed to get out somehow. The last time he had run away, Dumbledore and his Order had found him almost immediately. If he did it again he had no doubt the old man would send him right back to where he would be beaten even further. For some reason, he had the power to do that. No, what he needed was a permanent solution.

He couldn’t just kill the Dursleys; he had no doubt that he would be physically capable, but it would be obvious that it was him and he had no desire to spend his life in Azkaban. Even if he left, the Order would search for him relentlessly. Dumbledore, especially, seemed dead-set on having him fulfill that thrice-damned prophecy. What Harry needed was some sort of ally what would protect him from Dumbledore and his crusade against—“

His plans were cut off by the most agonizing pain he had ever experienced. Even his broken bones paled in comparison to the unending torture Harry felt in that minute. That one minute felt like an eternity as he saw strange images fly past his mind and foreign emotions that were not his own. Had he been more coherent this would have been a curious sensation, but instead Harry found himself crying for the first time in almost ten years. 

His body writhed within the enclosed environment as his very soul fought against his body in an eternal feud. Green eyes opened wide as fragile lungs fought for every breath.

Just when it seemed he could possibly take any more and his mouth opened in a soundless scream of anguish, the pain vanished as quickly as it had come. The tears remained though, and Harry felt an inexplicable feeling of loss from the deepest part of his being as he closed his eyes and succumbed to sleep.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Tom Riddle woke sluggishly. He knew there was something fundamentally different about him after the ordeal he had experienced. Glaring hatefully at the Gaunt family ring, he shakily climbed to his feet, having fallen onto the floor in his writhing. That was when the first difference presented itself.

His skin was no longer corpse like in its pallor and his nails were no longer sharp and elongated. Instead he stared down at his very human hand. He hurried towards the full length mirror and gazed at his appearance.

His hair and nose had returned, healthy and aristocratic. The looks he had once used to charm and seduce his prey had reappeared. He looked like he had in his 20’s. The only thing that remained of his former appearance was his blood red eyes. They would probably never disappear.

All in all, he was rather pleased with the changes. It would certainly aid in convincing his followers and allies of his newfound sanity.

Smirking, Tom turned away from the mirror and found Nagini lying passed out on the floor. He suspected that the ritual would be hard on her as she carried a piece of his soul as well. He carefully cradled her in his arms and returned to sitting. He would have to quickly gather his other horcruxes or the changes would never become permanent. He quickly checked on the boy through the link.

_Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain._

Tom jerked back in surprise. The boy was in such pain. He had felt the effects of the ritual as well. How could that be possible? The link was between their minds, the only things that could have felt effects were his horcruxes…

Voldemort felt an all-consuming rage encase him. His magic lashed out at the room around him, empowered by growth of his soul, destroying the surrounding shelves and furniture. He could feel his thoughts clouding over with dark emotions as fog slowly encroached his mind. It was only the now even more obvious soul bond holding him back from rampaging.

Harry Potter was his _horcrux_.

His red eyes flashed and glared hatefully at nothing in particular. 

Harry Potter was his horcrux and Dumbledore _knew_. 

There was no doubt in his mind that the old man knew, likely since that Halloween all those years ago. And now he was manipulating the boy into killing himself.

It was disgusting.

He had suspected much of the old man. His manipulations had always been far reaching, but a gambit of this magnitude and deplorability took the cake.

There was absolutely no way that he could believe the lie about the boy’s happy home life. The fear he had felt from the child was the most accurate tell of the state of his home life.

Harry Potter was scared to return home, because Harry Potter’s home was not a happy one.

Voldemort threw back his head and laughed bitterly. ‘ _There were even more similarities now. You would think after failing the first time around that the old man would realize that abuse does not weaken the spirit, but instead forges it into hard steel._ ’ He ran a single hand through his hair contemplating his options.

‘ _He is already closer to me than he realizes. He will not be difficult to turn._ ’ Voldemort thought. His next smirk was both malicious and regretful. He could find the boy now. He could feel the presence of all his horcruxes; this one would be no different.

He had a general location that he could start from and he would track down the boy from there. Voldemort carefully removed his faithful familiar from his lap, transfigured his clothing into something more suitable for travel, and apparated to Surrey.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry woke to the loud shrieks of his Aunt Petunia pounding outside the door to his cupboard. It seemed he was expected to complete his unending list of chores despite his injuries. 

He slowly worked his way out of the now open cupboard, trying his best to forget the strange experience from yesterday. Even now he saw the faces of an elderly couple begging for their lives next to the overturned body of their dead son.

_Oh my god. Oh my god! What have you done to my son?! What have you done to my baby?! Please don’t do this. Don’t kill us, please!_

He shuddered in remembrance. Harry had no desire to discover the source of those images, for now he would focus on making it through the day.

Raising himself on aching limbs he proceeded to cook breakfast for his… family? That didn’t seem like an appropriate word anymore. Once upon a time Harry would have given anything for acceptance, even from his relatives. Somehow he had lost that desire and now looked upon them as they shoved the continental breakfast into their gaping maws, grease dribbling down the multiple chins of his fattened calf of a cousin.

Harry accepted that there would not be even scraps today and made his way to the front yard to begin his work on Petunia’s garden. Despite the intense heat and pounding sunlight, he had always enjoyed his work in the garden, ensuring that it was the highlight of the otherwise boring house.

Ignoring the protests of his injuries, Harry sat forward and began to work.

 

-break-

 

Tom Riddle walked down the street sneering at the identical houses of Privet Drive. He would never understand the muggle fixation on being ordinary. He supposed it was a defense mechanism of sorts. Those that were different automatically became targets, as evidenced by his time within the orphanage.

That thought had him scowling. Even inside his Notice-Me-Not charm, Tom looked particularly unapproachable.

But he forged on. He could feel his soul calling him as he grew nearer to the secret location of Harry Potter. It had taken all night, but he finally found the right neighborhood. The dreadful lot known as Little Winging.

Another hour and he had arrived in front of number 4 Privet Drive, the muggle home of the Boy-Who-Lived. It was just as disgustingly normal as the rest of the houses, and despite the wards, certainly not a place for a magical child.

He noticed the wards were barely there. There were a few protections placed by Dumbledore, but he could see the original blood wards the boy’s mother had sacrificed her life to create were falling apart. Voldemort’s lip curled. The power of that sacrifice had been great enough to deflect the killing curse and banish him from his own body and here it had been reduced to almost nothing.

He could guess the reason; the boy did not view this place as home and his relatives did not view the child as blood. It was laughable that Dumbledore had used the excuse of blood wards to return the boy here every summer when they hardly existed. They wouldn’t affect him, especially not now that he had the boy’s blood within him, but he kept back to avoid triggering the many alarms that Dumbledore had placed. ' _Let him remain ignorant a little longer,_ ' he thought.

He spotted his prize working in the front garden in spite of the hot summer heat. The boy looked pale and wore awful baggy clothes that hung loosely off his boney frame. Even from behind he could tell the child had lost weight in the few weeks since he’d last seen him.

Tom clenched his fists and redoubled his charms, adding a Disillusionment charm for good measure, before approaching the house. As he crossed the street Potter stopped working and raised his head sharply. He was confused for a moment before he remembered that Potter could always feel when he was near via his scar, much like Nagini could.

It did not matter if the boy knew he was here. He had intended to speak with him anyways.

Stopping just outside the wards, Tom stood and waited for the boy to make the first move.

 

-break-

 

At first Harry tensed in what was probably fear, but then he relaxed and turned around.

He didn’t care anymore. He never had much to live for anyways, and now that Voldemort was literally feet away from him and he was without a wand, there wasn’t much point in fighting.

Staring up at the location he suspected Voldemort stood, Harry sat back on his feet and prepared himself for the inevitable.

“If you’re here to kill me you should do it quick, before my relatives notice I’m talking to empty air and do it themselves.”

 

-break-

 

Tom Riddle stared at the boy. He was completely prepared to die!

Tom couldn’t fathom such resignation. Such a complete acceptance of death was completely foreign to him.

How could Harry look certain death in the face and make jokes?

Through his incredulous musings he failed to notice that he had started thinking of the boy as ‘Harry.’ Even stranger, Harry began to fidget impatiently as Tom tried to come up with a way to convince the child that he had no desire to kill him.

Eventually what came out was a put upon sigh as Lord Voldemort came to the conclusion that Harry Potter would always be a mystery that he couldn’t help but try and understand.

“Go inside and pack your bags. I’m taking you away from these vermin.”

Harry looked surprised for a moment before that expression melted into one of intense scrutiny. Voldemort had the disturbing feeling that Harry was somehow much older than his appearance indicated.

“Why?” The question was a simple one, but it still threw him off guard. He planned his next words carefully, because he knew that they would determine whether or not Harry ever put even an ounce of trust in him.

“Because no magical child should ever have to suffer at the hands of muggles, because no child should live in fear of death on a day to day basis, and because it is my obligation to make right the wrongs that occurred due to my arrogance, starting with this one.”

Harry gazed directly at Voldemort’s eyes despite being unable to see them. He stared for a long minute gauging the intentions of his long time enemy, face blank and expressionless, but eyes shining. After what felt like an eternity under scrutiny, the boy nodded slightly and quickly reentered the house. 

Tom felt a strange sort of pride fill him at having passed some sort of test. He waited patiently for the boy to gather his things all the while rearranging the plans in his head to accommodate his latest impulsive action.

He knew that the bond between their minds and souls was still intact. He could feel its grounding influence at the corner of his awareness. Having existed for years before he was aware of it, Voldemort knew that its absence would likely drive him back to insanity. 

He shuddered in remembrance of his time as a bodiless wraith, even later when he had a body physical sensations were lost to him. This was essentially a new world, filled with vivid colors that bled across the horizon and melted into an array of different textures. The softness of his cloak clinging to his skin, the rays of the midday sun beating against his skin, and behind it all was the constant comfort of Harry’s rainbow of emotions.

_Rage. Hatred. Anger. Bitterness._

That was unusual. The boy didn’t seem angry during their brief talk before, so these emotions must be directed at someone else. Tom didn’t have much time to ponder it because Harry came sprinting through the front door as though hell was at his heels.

The child half dragged half carried his trunk behind him as he barreled out of the wards and into Tom.

Only hesitating for a moment, Tom took the events as a sign and apparated them both into his quarters.

Lying on the floor of his bedroom, Harry Potter had apparently used the last of his energy in performing that last stunt and was peacefully sleeping atop his chest. Tom rested his head back on the ground and ran his hand through the boy’s tempest of hair, smirking at the new development.

 

-break-

 

Harry awoke feeling more comfortable than ever before. Normally his sleep was ended by his screaming his throat raw or the shrill screeches of his Aunt demanding he make breakfast.

This time though, Harry was pleasantly surprised to notice he was warmly wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. The second thing he noticed was that his injuries no longer hurt. The bones he had broken only exuded a dull ache when normally it would have taken them at least a week to heal. Carefully categorizing his wounds in a way that he was forced to learn in order to survive, Harry found that all his bones had been mended and bruises healed.

A sudden knocking at the door had him at full alert. He wasn’t entirely sure where he was or how he got there, but instinctively Harry threw off the covers and dove under the massive bed he had previously been resting in.

A minor displacement of air was the only indication that the door had opened as the figure entered and stood patiently upon the threshold.

“There’s no need for you to hide under the bed. I promise I won’t bite, yet.” The voice spoke in a confident drawl of amusement. Harry cautiously remained under the bed trying to recognize the vaguely familiar voice.

“Why should I believe that? I’ve had people break promises to me before,” Harry called back bitterly. The promise of protection the Order gave him, the promise of companionship his friends had given him, the promise of a new life magic had given him—all broken. Harry’s hope was shot and he had no intention of blindly trusting anyone anymore.

The temperature in the room dropped and Harry watched as the Dark Lord slowly approached his hideaway. Even from underneath the bed the steps were menacingly slow as Voldemort finally stopped.

Harry gasped for breath as he was forcefully pulled out of the comforting darkness and back onto the sheets. Voldemort didn’t give him time to process what was happening, because the next thing he knew he was being pinned to the bed by a single knee and surrounded by his much larger frame.

Harry struggled. He thrashed and clawed and fought in a haze of hysteria, eyes wide with fear, no longer seeing what was happening. Voldemort endured the blows and calmly leaned close to the boy’s ear, breath tickling the skin.

~Enough~ he hissed, voice as soft as a caress. Even in his panic, Harry found himself compelled to listen to that voice. That gentle whisper sent tingles down his spine as eventually his muscles were forced to relax.

~I will not hurt you~ Voldemort continued. ~You are sssafe here~ the sibilant hissing lulled Harry into a sense of security. He felt his eyelids drooping. ~Relax~ there was one last embrace that warmed every inch of his being before Harry fully succumbed to the voice and let his mind drift.

 

Voldemort stared down at his newest trophy, the Golden Boy, the Boy-Who-Lived, and couldn’t help but feel unsatisfied. This wasn’t how the meeting was supposed to go. He had expected the child to be shocked by his new appearance, perhaps a bit wary of his intentions. Never did he consider that Harry would hide from him, fight him off when he got too close.

The boy’s fear left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He scowled at the thought that this child had so much power over him. It was unacceptable. He was the Dark Lord, he couldn’t afford to have such glaring weaknesses. That was why none of his followers had been told about the boy’s presence inside his chambers. 

Like it or not, Harry Potter was his horcrux and the key to his sanity. The child’s soul had long since merged with his own. As far as he could tell they would be nearly impossible to separate, so it would be better to prepare for that eventuality now. That meant gaining Harry’s trust by any means necessary.

And yet when he had held Harry close, leaned in to whisper comforts in his ear. It felt right. As the child relaxed into his hold it was as though something was clicking into place.

He didn’t understand it.

Regardless, Harry had relaxed somehow. Voldemort hadn’t laced any compulsions into his voice and yet the boy was sleeping lazily in front of him, all signs of defiance gone. It felt empowering to know that he could influence the boy so, that his voice had such effect on his mind. After all had done this with merely a few words in parseltongue, imagine what he could do if he fully utilized their link.

He shook his head trying to banish the thoughts from his mind and settled on the bed next to Harry. He would not become Dumbledore. He would not manipulate this child with false promises and fake comforts.

The boy was his horcrux. That alone insured he would receive some level of courtesy. 

He remembered the state he had found the boy in. After he had stripped those rags off (and promptly burned them) he could easily see why the child was afraid of returning to that place.

His first instinct was to return to the home of those maggots and raze the entire neighborhood to the ground. Rage had filled his vision for a few long seconds before he was dragged back to awareness by the persistent tug of the mind link. It was one of the few occasions when he wouldn’t have minded having a little less self-control.

Still, he knew how satisfying it was to end the reason for one’s suffering. The day he had killed his father was one he would always remember as one of vindication. Thus, Voldemort refrained from taking that away from the boy. Harry would be given the opportunity for his own revenge.

The child began to stir once more. This time, Tom was seated at the foot of the bed. ‘ _Let’s try this again._ ’

 

-break-

 

Harry blinked awake once more. He felt a lot calmer this time for some reason. The previous confusion that had fogged his mind had dissipated and he found himself seeing more clearly than he had in a long time.

He stared emotionlessly at Tom Riddle, who sat at the edge of the bed as though it were completely natural.

“Did you not want to bother with the mercy of killing me in my sleep?” The question was snide and based on past experiences, almost guaranteed to get him cursed.

Strangely enough the Dark Lord chuckled in amusement. Harry narrowed his eyes. ' _He has changed more than just his appearance. This is not the insane maniac that spent most of his life trying to kill me._ '

“If I wanted to kill you I would have done it at that pathetic little hovel I discovered you in. I would have burned the entire neighborhood to the ground and fired my mark into the air so that anybody who cared could tell that it was my work. In fact, I am still considering doing the latter.” The Dark Lord’s smirk fled and his magic flared. Harry could feel it prickle against his skin in a strange, but not unpleasant sensation. He ignored it for now.

“If you don’t intend to kill me then my only other reason for being here is that you want something from me.” Harry trailed off uncertainly. He couldn’t understand what he could possibly give the Dark Lord. Voldemort chuckled once more at his expression, the dark laughter filling the otherwise silent room.

“Definitely, but first, I want to know what you think about this situation.” Tom smirked at the boy’s confusion. Harry shifted positions so that he was sitting up against the many plush pillows of the bed. He couldn’t figure out Voldemort’s motive for doing this.

“You’re not insane anymore,” he started. Tom was only mildly surprised that he fixated on that first. “You have your old appearance back. I’m still alive and you claim that you won’t kill me, so either you’ve deemed the prophecy irrelevant or you’ve heard it and come to your own conclusions. Probably the same way you sent those visions to me—” Harry stopped abruptly as he realized something. “Stay out of my head,” he growled.

Tom’s eyes narrowed at the order. Instead of complying he sent a twinge of pain into the boy’s scar. Harry flinched at the sudden pain and noticed that despite their close proximity, it hadn’t hurt until now.

“You are correct on all counts.” Tom chose to ignore the child’s last statement and continued. “I performed certain Dark rituals with some unfortunate side effects that I am in the process of recovering from. My Inner Circle is aware of this as well as my change in… perspective.” The man’s red eyes flashed as he grinned predatorily. 

“The interesting thing is that in recovering my sanity, my body and magic have been strengthened as well. Just how much of a chance do you think the Light has now that I have been restored to my full potential?”

The Dark Lord's magic hung in the air alongside the question. Harry gulped, already knowing the answer. The Ministry was a joke; they still couldn’t bring themselves to accept the reality of Voldemort’s return and corruption existed at every level. It would be the first to fall.

But what about the Order of the Phoenix? ‘ _More importantly what about Hogwarts?_ ’

The members of Dumbledore’s Order had all made their choice. They were adults. Even if one were to claim that Dumbledore had the members in his pocket since the time they first set foot in Hogwarts, it would be an insult to assume that they weren’t capable of making their own decisions. 

Not that Harry was opposed to insulting them. They were a pathetically disorganized lot that only managed to function by following Dumbledore’s every order. If Dumbledore ever fell the Phoenix would be about as much of a threat as a headless chicken.

Hogwarts, on the other hand, was a bigger issue. Harry had seen all the changes Dumbledore made to the curriculum ever since he took the position of Headmaster. By now there were probably more books in the restricted section than the main library. It seemed he was determined to keep the masses as ignorant as possible while at the same time maintaining the massive amount of influence he had as Britain’s foremost educator. Harry grimaced at the thought.

He also knew how much the Dark Lord loved the castle as a student. Diary Tom would slip up on occasion and go on long tirades about his time exploring the ancient building. Those were the times when Harry could relate to him the most. Hogwarts was his home, more than Privet Drive had ever been. More than Grimmauld Place or even the Burrow, Hogwarts was important to him.

Harry wondered if Voldemort remembered those feelings now that he was sane.

“Hogwarts Castle would be the only real issue.” He finally spoke. Voldemort had been watching him intently as he thought, but for some reason it seemed he actually wanted to hear Harry’s opinion on the matter.

“It’s a fortress protected by ancient wards that would make any kind of frontal assault useless. Unless you had an alternate means of entering the castle, Hogwarts will be the toughest to conquer.” Harry allowed himself a tiny smile at that. After he had discovered the whereabouts of the Chamber of Secrets, he had made a point of knowing where everything was in the castle. The Marauder’s Map had only helped with that. As of now, Harry was fairly certain he knew more about Hogwarts than anyone, but he had no intentions of telling Voldemort that.

It was at this point that Harry realized he had no idea where his stuff was. He only vaguely remembered being apparated along with his trunk from the Dursleys.

“Where are my things?” Voldemort frowned at the change in subject. With a gesture Harry’s trunk came flying towards him and stopped at his side.

“I took the liberty of relieving you of your wand and invisibility cloak. I may return them to you at a later date depending on your level of cooperation.”

Harry clenched his fists under the blanket. He tried to hide the fact that his entire body had just gone completely tense. ‘ _So I’m just changing prisons_.’

Harry knew the words would enrage the Dark Lord, sane or not, but the question needed to be asked.

“Do you intend to do the same thing as Dumbledore?”

 

-break-

 

Voldemort was taken aback for a moment. The tensing muscles of the boy were not lost on him. He was the ultimate Slytherin, a master Legilimens, and shared a mind link with the child; did he really believe he could hide anything from him?

Nevertheless, the question confused him before Harry elaborated.

“I left the Light side because they used me as a tool and disregarded my opinion entirely. I was a prisoner within the home of my relatives.” He watched in fascination as the boy bit his lip, seemingly steeling himself to continue. “I was denied magic as well as basic living necessities.”

Voldemort seethed under the surface. He had suspected, but hearing it from the boy’s own mouth just solidified his opinion that those scum needed to be slaughtered. Even with the admission, he knew Harry was still leaving out a great deal.

“Will you lock me away within these walls? Perhaps even use me against your enemies? Is the Dark side no different from the Light!?”

Harry yelled the last words. His body was shaking visibly now out of both fear and rage. The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at the child’s outburst. He brought up a good point, but Voldemort would not be questioned in such a way.

“Enough.” The word was said with sufficient force to still the boy’s movement. Voldemort’s breath hitched as Harry raised his head and leveled a fierce green gaze with his own. ‘ _The boy may be scared, but he has no intentions of backing down._ ’

He smirked and returned to his feet. It seemed the child was truly more than his persona.

“No,” Harry’s eyes widened at the word.

“What—“

“No, I do not intend to make the same mistakes as the old man and yes, the Dark side is different from the Light side. Or at least it is as long as I am leading it.” The child stared with suspicious eyes. Voldemort chuckled in amusement at the child’s efforts to remain stoic. He was better than most, but no one was on the same level as the Dark Lord.

“You are a prisoner of sorts, for now.” He added the last part quickly, noticing the boy’s barely contained rage. “You may not leave this Manor for the time being, but you are free to do as you like otherwise.

“I am giving you access to my personal library, which is even more extensive than the one at Hogwarts. I will not deny you information, about the war or otherwise. You will be fed and clothed and most importantly, no one will harm you here.”

Voldemort moved to exit the room, seeing that the boy’s suspicion was fully evident now. It was obvious that Dumbledore had withheld information, and that was a major reason for the child's loss of faith. Voldemort hadn’t lied; he had no intentions of making the same mistakes as the Light’s leader. He would have the Boy-Who-Lived, but he would not lie to him.

Harry was powerful. The Dark Lord could feel his magic curling protectively around him, lashing out whenever his emotions were too strong to contain. Politically, financially, and magically, the boy would make a valuable ally, but he knew not to lie to the child.

He had other ways of ensuring his loyalty, but they would take time. As long as Harry remained inside the Manor, the Dark Lord would have the freedom to mold and change him as he pleased.

The Light had made a huge mistake in allowing Harry to leave and Voldemort was not above taking advantage of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look a new chapter. Yeah this one was really hard to write. I've decided that Harry is even harder to understand character-wise than anyone else. Thus, the scenes featuring him don't flow as well as I'd like. I'll do my best, but give me suggestions please.
> 
> Also, sorry if I disappointed anyone by delaying Voldemort's first (and probably last) meeting with the Dursleys. It felt too soon to have that confrontation and I don't think it'll happen until Harry can trust Tom with some of the details of his treatment.
> 
> In other news, the next chapter will feature some happenings back on the Light side of the spectrum. Possibly more Snape, I haven't entirely decided yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's baaaaack! It has been a while and I apologize, I was finishing up 'Times of Peace.' I have begun writing this story again but it is slow going, mostly due to the many other fics I am writing at the same time including the sequel to 'Times of Peace.' Updates for this fic will be slow, but rest assured I will not abandon it!

Severus stood before a mirror. It was well cleaned and perfectly reflected his visage. He currently wore his usual long sleeved, button down, all black robes. The tight sleeves ensured that he could brew freely without worrying that his clothes would get in the way.

He leaned forward, hands clenching the sink tightly as he stared down his reflection, face devoid of all emotion. His dark hair emphasized his sallow complexion making his black eyes look like empty pits.

The very essence of Severus was regret. He regretted being unable to protect Lily, he regretted the way his mother died, alone and forgotten, he regretted saying _that word_ to his best friend on _that day_.

But Severus was no longer at a crossroad, that ship had sailed and he had made his choice. He had chosen his side and finished making his apologies to the memory of Lily for choosing her killer. What was done was done, and now it was time to live with the consequences.

There was an Order meeting today. Severus was fully prepared. He had meditated to reinforce his Occlumency shields and he was confident that there was nothing that could penetrate the walls he had built around his mind.

Severus glared at the face in the mirror. It seemed so much older than it should be. The act of spying on both sides to such a volatile war was exhausting and he was tired. That was why he had chosen now to make his choice. Now that the Dark Lord was aware of the contents of the prophecy there was no doubt in his mind that the war would begin in earnest and probably end just as quickly.

The meeting he had in the Dark Lord’s study had been both enlightening and inspiring. He had watched with the utmost fascination as the ideas whirled behind the eyes of his Lord. It seemed that he was interested in the Potter boy as more than just an enemy.

That thought brought the sneer back to his face. There was a churning feeling in his stomach that made his throat dry. The idea that Harry Potter was anything more than an attention seeking brat was enough to send his mind reeling. And yet, the evidence was becoming clearer by the day and if there was one thing Severus took seriously, it was his vows.

There would be time to ponder that later.

He swept out of his lavish quarters inside the vast Prince Mansion. He generally did not share the fact that he was the sole heir to the Prince family, but that did not mean he was opposed to using his inheritance. There was almost no chance that Severus would have children at this point, thus the Prince line would die with him. Still, he would live in the Prince Mansion and practice the Prince traditions out of respect for his mother.

He gripped his wand a little harder than necessary before Apparating to the dilapidated home that was once the Black family Manor. It had, unfortunately, been relegated to the headquarters of Dumbledore’s incompetent Order, courtesy of _that dog_.

Severus rapped on the door twice and waited outside the house in the abysmal weather. Clouds covered the sky, making it appear like night during midday, yet not a single drop of rain fell. The whole thing put him on edge; it felt foreboding in a certain way.

The door was opened by the wolf who allowed him inside without a word. The interior was chaos as usual. The Weasley spawns ran about unchecked creating mayhem that the others struggled to contain. Meanwhile, the dog was having a very loud, very high pitched, argument with the portrait of the late Walburga Black.

Severus boldly stalked into the house and to the kitchen intending to wait there until the meeting began, all the while ignoring the surrounding commotion.

Luckily, he did not have to wait long, as Dumbledore appeared from the fireplace and gestured for all the adults to join him in the kitchen with a grave expression on his face.

Dumbledore’s less than happy appearance immediately had him on guard. Had something happened? Did the Dark Lord have another raid without informing him? No, that wasn’t possible. Severus was sure that had there been an attack he would have been one of the first to hear about it. Whether or not the Order would be informed beforehand was another matter entirely.

“I’m afraid I have come bearing bad news.” The adults (read: children) in the room leaned closer to the Headmaster in anticipation. The Dark Lord had been taking advantage of the Ministry’s willful ignorance and hadn’t overtly attacked anything yet. The Order members, barely out of school themselves, had grown used to the peace. Many of them hadn’t even been alive during the last war, thus they knew nothing of the Dark Lord’s ruthlessness. Sane or not, no one could deny the Dark Lord’s penchant for cruelty.

“Harry has disappeared from his home.”

Severus tried, he truly did, to prevent the startled laughter that threatened to leave his mouth. The best he could do was contain it to a derisive snort. This, unfortunately, had the effect of drawing the attention of everyone in the room. He rechecked his mental shields and schooled his face into an appropriately disgusted sneer.

“That was the _important news_ you needed to share? It’s not the first time the brat has run off and it likely won’t be the last. Was this really so important that we needed to be called away from our, no doubt, _busy_ schedules?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm and not once had the Potions Master lied.

“You have something better to do Snivellus?” The mutt growled out the words, his animagus form bleeding into his personality and making him even more unbearable than normal.

“I would be hard pressed to think of something _less_ important than searching for the errant Boy-Who-Lived.” Severus drawled, ignoring the outraged gasps coming from the red headed side of the room.

And again he had not lied. Severus was immensely annoyed that he had to spend any amount of time inside the rotting remains of the Black household, but the idea that he had to gather with the ragtag group known as the Order of the Phoenix and trade ideas on where that child had disappeared to was too much for him.

“If that is all, I will be taking my leave.”

“Severus,” he found himself being stopped by the uncharacteristic tone of voice. Albus looked at him from his place at the head of the table, blue eyes devoid of his trademarked twinkle and cold in a way that no Light Lord should ever be.

“If Voldemort were responsible for the disappearance of young Harry you would know.” Severus winced at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name. He had to wonder if that was a statement or a question, regardless the silence indicated that he was expected to answer.

“If the Dark Lord had any involvement in Potter’s absence then I would be among the first to hear about it.” And with that, Severus swept out of the room, leaving the pandemonium that was undoubtedly brewing behind him.

Even if he was uninterested in speculating on the whereabouts of the boy he had to wonder. He had sworn an oath and Severus took that seriously, but what were the chances that the child had been spirited away by the Dark Lord with no one the wiser.

Firstly, there were the famed blood wards which were supposedly capable of protecting the child from anyone bearing the Dark mark, particularly the Dark Lord himself. Even if the child had been grabbed outside of his house, there were several tracking charms in place that would make finding him comically easy.

So why then had those not been brought up? The obvious answer was that they were no longer working, which effectively ruled out the boy running away. Even if the brat was aware of their presence he lacked the magical skill needed to remove them or even dampen them.

Yet, if the Dark Lord was responsible would he not brag about his victory to his at least his Inner Circle?

Once again, Severus found himself considering the changes that had occurred with the Dark Lord’s newfound sanity as he Apparated away from Grimmauld place.

What would make the Dark Lord willing to hide his possession of the boy who lived? What had changed that would make such a thing necessary?

The prophecy.

Damn, he thought, gritting his teeth as he gathered his meager belongings from the Prince Manor. Slipping on his cloak containing several powerful and only barely legal potions, Severus focused on the Dark mark tattooed on his left arm. The Dark Lord’s mark, forever emblazoned on his forearm and intrinsically linked to his magic.

Following the connection, Severus allowed himself to be drawn into the Dark Lord’s Manor.

  
OoOoOoOoO  


Sirius was upset. No, he had long since gone past upset and now he was raging.

Ever since the ‘DoM incident’ as they had taken to calling it, Dumbledore had been keeping him on an even shorter leash and now it was choking him.

Harry had disappeared, and unlike Snivellus he did not believe that Prongslet would run away. Not without telling him anyways.

He had seen the Dursleys. They were filth, the worst kind of muggles, and it broke his heart to have to send Harry back to that horrible place every single summer.

He had argued and raged and screamed with Dumbledore trying desperately to convince him that Harry would be safe here, that despite its appearance, the Black Manor had some of the best wards in existence. Surely, Harry would be safer, and more importantly, happier, here amongst friends and family. But Dumbledore wouldn’t hear it.

And now Harry had disappeared.

Sirius lifted one of the antique wooden chairs over his head and violently threw it against the wall, relishing the way it shattered into a million splinters. Running an anxious hand through his hair he stormed away from the still gaping room of watchers and into the private suite inside the house, a place which only those of Black blood could enter.

He paced, restlessly, trying not to imagine the shocked faces of the children and Dumbledore’s useless reassurances and platitudes.

He had never felt more useless before in his life. Even inside Azkaban he had the benefit of believing that Harry was safe, the Dark Lord and the traitorous rat dead. But not now—now both Voldemort and _Peter_ were alive and well and Prongslet, James’ son, was nowhere to be found. And here he was, trapped inside the walls of his hated family home.

He had traded one prison for another.

Well no more. He didn’t care what Dumbledore thought anymore. He had failed Harry once, that Halloween night over a decade ago, and he would not fail him again.

Carefully, he slipped out one of the back entrances, again, only accessible to those of Black blood, shifted into the form of a Grim, and left.

Harry was in danger, but this time, no matter what, he would not face that danger alone.

  
OoOoOoOoO  


Albus was tired. Moving past the abrupt exit of Severus and the violent, but not entirely unexpected, outburst of Sirius, he was hard pressed to answer all the questions the rest of his Order had bombarded him with.

Thank Merlin they had managed to keep word of Harry’s disappearance away from the sensitive ears of the children, otherwise he would have been flooded with twice as many questions.

The short answer was that Harry was nowhere to be found. The Dursleys had last seen him barreling out their front door, trunk behind him, as they worked past their surprise that the boy had actually _punched_ his uncle.

The massive bruising on the side of Vernon Dursley’s was enough indication of how that confrontation went, but run away or not, there was no way the child could have outmaneuvered his tracking spells. There were a few on his belongings, but even more on his person, and all of them were suddenly ineffective.

Tom must have grabbed the boy the moment he left his house and dragged him off to places unknown. The real conundrum was why Severus was unaware of this fact? Tom had never been one to hide his successes and Harry was the ultimate trophy, so why was there no word?

These were the thoughts running through Albus Dumbledore’s head as he approached the infamous Gaunt House, now reduced to nothing more than a shack, and barely standing. Even from a good distance away, Albus could feel the Dark magic hidden inside its confines, the foulest of all magics, tucked away from the world. He had gone through much to gather Tom’s early memories, spending endless hours searching through the boy’s dark past to discover the location of his most precious possessions.

His horcruxes.

And everything that Albus had researched indicated that one such horcrux was inside this very location.

He pushed open the door, allowing it to swing eerily on its rusted hinges, ignoring the dead snake nailed to the old wood. Stepping inside only made the presence of the foul magic even more apparent. It was almost suffocating, but he persevered, moving forwards even as it threatened to overwhelm him.

A few diagnostic charms later and—there. There it was, under that floor board. Albus moved forward, focusing on each step he took, crouching down to the floor as his old and worn hands removed the plank with bated breath.

A small silver ring, tarnished from age, sat underneath the floor, adorned with a dark stone that carried a very familiar mark.

Albus’ aged face gawked unattractively, all rational thoughts leaving his head as he saw the stone, the legendary Resurrection Stone, now realizing that it had been hidden with the Gaunts all this time.

He could call his father ask him why he left his family in their time of need, left them for petty revenge. He could finally apologize to his mother, for failing her, for not being there when he was needed. And Arianna…

Before he understood what he was doing the ring was already on his finger, glinting savagely in the light as his hand darkened to a dangerous black which spread up his arm.

Meanwhile, someone somewhere smirked maliciously into his glass of wine and continued reading comfortably in front of a warm fireplace.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end for an important note.

The Dark Lord was mildly irritated that he had been distracted from his reading by one of his Death Eaters entering his Manor. The only Death Eaters that were mostly allowed constant access were those in his Inner Circle and the wards indicated that it was none other than Severus Snape.

He had been contemplating the man’s loyalties. Their previous conversation had given him much more insight than the Master Occlumens would be comfortable with. Regardless, he decided that it would be more useful to show the man his change in forms, at least for the temporary amusement the usually stoic man’s surprise would give him.

Closing his book, he stood gracefully from his armchair and made his way to the greeting room of Slytherin Manor. The old but resplendent house was in excellent condition and he had been staying there ever since his sudden return to sanity. Mostly because Riddle Manor was just too obvious a location, but also because remaining there would only intensify his desire to burn the mansion to the ground.

Still, he would have enjoyed being present in the house mere moments ago, if only so he could have watched Dumbledore’s reckoning through the second floor window. He now had confirmation that the old man was not only aware of his horcruxes, but that he was actively searching for them as well.

Voldemort ginned disturbingly into the dimness of the ancient home. _‘Too bad for Dumbledore.’_ The old man was not long for this world and he wanted to enjoy every second of his desperation.

The Dark Lord took a moment to access the wards with his mind and saw that Harry was sleeping comfortably in his bed. He mentally locked the door and sealed the room, Inner Circle or not, it paid to be cautious.

He arrived, casually entering the room Severus was waiting in, secretly enjoying the way the man stalled in utter bafflement at his new appearance. The man was nervous for additional reasons he could not identify, but Severus was still trying valiantly to project ease. Sitting across from the man he waited in silence, enjoying the way Potions Master had to stop himself from squirming as the lack of conversation slowly began to wear at him.

“My Lord,” he began carefully. “There has been a development with Dumbledore’s Order.” The Dark Lord watched him, not unlike the way a lion would watch and antelope, and Severus gulped, visibly steeling himself.

“Albus brought news that the boy, Harry Potter,” Severus looked pointedly in his direction, “has disappeared.”

_‘Ah, so that’s what it was. He found out the Boy-Who-Lived disappeared and now he wishes to know if I have taken him.’_

At the same time, Voldemort was also aware that before, if he had captured Harry Potter, his followers would have been the first to know about it. He would have dragged the boy into his throne room in chains and made him crawl on all fours before every one of his Death Eaters.

Much had changed.

“There were several tracking spells on his person which the boy could not have disabled, but they are no longer functional.”

The Dark Lord couldn’t stop his smirk, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Clever Severus, always the sharpest, had figured out that it would at least take someone of at least Dumbledore’s raw skill and power to remove some of the tracking charms formerly on the Boy-Who-Lived. He had come to the conclusion that Voldemort did indeed have the child, but was hiding his presence for some unknown reason and now he was here to ask that reason.

“Very good Severus, but enough dancing around the subject. I will allow you one question.”

They both heard the offer and the warning in that statement. Severus would not, could not tell the Order or anyone else of these new revelations, but in return the Dark Lord would give him one truthful answer. He was interested to know what the man would come up with.

The Potion’s Master paused for a minute, sending the room into another, more comfortable silence as he carefully considered his options. Slowly, the seconds ticked by, and Severus came to the conclusion that there was only one question he really wanted an answer to.

“What has changed, my Lord?”

*****

The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes in such a way that made Severus want to immediately take back his question and apologize for his insolence. But then something unexpected happened, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and allowed the veritable maelstrom of magic around him to calm.

Severus had only ever seen the Dark Lord’s anger end with someone getting cursed, so watching him not only refrain from said action, but control his anger as well, was understandably jarring.

_‘Well, now I know that at least his personality has changed.’_

“Just this once Severus, I shall forgive your impudence.” The Potion’s Master bowed his head respectfully, grateful for his Lord’s newfound restraint, but his question still rolled around in his head.

Would the Dark Lord answer it? He was suddenly reminded of the time he had begged for the life of Lily Evans, when he had thrown away his pride and entrusted the Dark Lord with the life of his muse.

But Lily was dead, and whether or not the Dark Lord had kept his word and tried to spare her, he would never know.

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.”_ Severus’ hands whitened from tension as he heard the first two lines of that Merlin damned prophecy. He tensed in anticipation, waiting for the words that the oblivious fool Trelawney spoke.

_“And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...”_

Severus wondered what it was in his life that constantly caused him to be pitted against impossible odds. Those words practically sealed Potter’s doom, and he, as his protector, would surely follow.

“Severus, what I tell you next does not leave this room. Swear it.” His eyes widened. There was more? The Dark Lord did not even make him vow not to tell anyone the prophecy, not that he would, it would only encourage more people to target the boy.

But what did the Dark Lord have to say that was even more important than the prophecy?

“I swear on my life and magic that what the Dark Lord tells me this day in this room shall not be repeated in any fashion. So I have sworn it, so mote it be.” Severus hissed as a sharp pain shot through his left arm.

The mark that the Dark Lord had carved into his arm was glowing ominously. Severus had no idea what the mark was doing or how it would enforce the vow he had just made, but he was even less willing to test it now.

“What do you know about horcruxes?”

*****

Sirius growled at the sight of number 4 Privet Drive. The immaculate and utterly ordinary home was still standing in spite of Harry’s disappearance, the occupants going about their days as though everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

Sirius was half tempted to sneak into the house and tear out the throats of every one of the Dursleys, to violently rip and rend the fat lumps of filth until there was nothing…!

He shook his head, sitting back on his haunches until he could calm himself. Sirius had been spending too much time inside his Animagus form, the instincts of the animal were now beginning to affect his thoughts. His time in Azkaban certainly hadn’t done him any favors either.

But he would persevere. He would keep going.

For Harry.

He had returned to this Merlin forsaken house to pick up the scent of his pup. The sense of smell of his Animagus form was far more accurate than that of an ordinary dog, now that he had a starting point his search would begin.

Sirius would find his Prongslet.

And he would tear apart anyone that got in his way.

*****

Voldemort retreated back into the confines of Slytherin Manor. His talk with Severus had dredged up a lot of bad emotions, many mistakes he had made, mistakes which now rested in the forms of the precious heirlooms of three of the four founders.

It had only been through sheer force of will that he had managed to restrain his emotions, to not lash out at the insolent Severus Snape with his volatile magic—willpower, and of course, his human horcrux.

According to wards, the boy was now inside his private study, presumably taking advantage of his library. His study was a cozy one. Salazar had designed it to be simple and grand all at once. The furniture may not be as old as the room itself, but it was still tasteful, and judging by the way the boy was curled up on one of the armchairs, comfortable as well.

The boy took a few moments to notice his presence and once he did he continued reading, the only sign of his wariness the sudden tenseness of his limbs. Voldemort silently took the seat next to him, enjoying the crackle of the fireplace and the proximity of his horcrux.

Harry shifted, the Dark Lord could feel his confused emotions through the connection

Suspicion, caution, curiosity

He was pleased to note that the curiosity outweighed the boy’s lingering suspicion. He suspected that eventually it would overwhelm the boy and he would finally be forced to voice whatever question was currently on his mind and the Dark Lord found himself strangely willing to answer.

The minutes dragged on, Harry slowly becoming more and more restless as Voldemort casually resumed his reading, until finally…

“What are you planning?” Only 15 minutes? He would have to teach the boy to be more patient than that.

“I am planning many things. You’ll have to be more specific.” The Dark Lord answered without looking up from his book, _Properties of the Soul_.

Harry narrowed his eyes in annoyance and Voldemort had to resist the urge to smirk at the boy’s sudden irritation.

“Let’s start with something simple then. What are you planning to do with the Dursleys?” Well, that was unexpected.

“Why Harry, are you feeling some sentimental attachment to your dear _relatives_?” His voice was deceptively sweet even as he practically spat the word relatives. Those people were truly the dregs, the worst the muggles had to offer. The world would be a better place when he finally killed them—or rather, allowed Harry to kill them.

“Not even a little,” the boy sneered through the words and dropped his gaze, pausing for a moment as random emotions fired off in his head quickly enough to confuse even the Dark Lord.

The boy closed his book, dropping the pretense entirely, “I’ve heard talk, specifically from people like Malfoy, about how you plan to enslave the muggles or slaughter them all or whatever. I’m sure a lot of that is just propaganda for your cause, but I also don’t know how long it’s been since you stepped outside and took a look at the muggle world.” 

The Dark Lord found himself wondering what Harry would say next. Once again the child had proven himself more intelligent than anyone had originally given him credit for. More importantly, if Harry’s emotions grounded his own, then his voice was practically a balm to his soul. Voldemort could feel himself relaxing more with every word.

“There are at least five and a half billion people currently living on the planet. Judging from what I’ve seen and learned about the wizarding world there probably aren’t more than a couple million. Great Britain alone has less than a 100,000 wizards, and that’s including children. Since I know you’re not an idiot, what exactly are you planning?”

This time the Dark Lord didn’t stop the smirk. It was tinged with bitterness yes, regret of his time of insanity when he thought war with the muggles was actually an option, but it was a smirk nonetheless.

It also had the wonderful effect of unnerving his new and interesting charge.

“There are many ways of subverting the dangers that the muggle population creates, many ways of removing their influence from our world.” The Dark Lord trailed off musingly, eagerly anticipating what reaction the boy would have.

*****

_‘Remove their influence,’_ Harry thought, _‘is that his plan?’_

Harry was so confused, so utterly unprepared for everything that had happened in the last few days. So far Voldemort had kept his promise. He had not been harmed or lied to, or so he thought, but Harry still had no idea how to interact with the man.

He lacked the irrationality of the snake-like being in the graveyard, the youthful naiveté of the boy from the Diary, and he was nothing at all like the mad parasite from his first year.

What was he then? How should he react? Looking into his red eyes Harry tried not to quail at what he saw there.

This Voldemort was unyielding, completely unwilling to accept any form of limitation. In that moment Harry knew that Voldemort would never accept failure. Tom Riddle would drag the wizarding world out of the dregs of mediocrity kicking and screaming. It would be difficult, but he would do it because he refused to allow anything less than perfection. 

He would remake the world in his image, for better or for worse.

Would Voldemort prefer he speak candidly? Would he punished if he was too direct?

Harry didn’t want to get involved in a war, he just wanted the peace he had been denied since birth. He suspected Voldemort might be willing to give him that, but Harry would likely have to play to his tune first.

“How do you plan on removing muggle influences?”

Harry scowled as the Dark Lord smirked, enjoying the way he had finally given into his curiosity. It was as though Voldemort wanted him to ask questions, and wasn’t that just far more disturbing than anything else.

“I could tell you my plans. I could even allow you to give any suggestions you may have.” Harry flinched, eyes goggling.

“Yesss,” Voldemort leaned close, his voice just on the brink of Parseltongue. “You would like to be included wouldn’t you, consulted even. So many years you have spent as an unwilling poster boy for the Light. I could give you the power to make change, to decide your own destiny.” Harry shivered, unconsciously leaning back and baring his neck.

“The question is Harry,” The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes on the unconscious gesture of submission, red eyes glittering with secret delight.

~What would you give me in return?~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while hasn't it? First of all, I would like to reassure everyone that this is not abandoned, nor will it ever be. 'Times of Change' has been consuming my attention lately, but as soon as I'm finished with that, updates for this fic will pick up.
> 
> Secondly, I would like to thank those of you that have commented. In my absence I have received several incredible comments that not only motivated me, but inspired me in general, so thank you for that.
> 
> Finally, during these last few months I've really been thinking about where I want this story to go. This was my first fanfic and it really began as an experiment. After much contemplation I've decided I want this to be a character study. A very in depth, hopefully unbiased, analysis of every major character and their actions. It is for that reason that I have had to scrap some of the later passages I had written, but now that I know where this is going I can begin working on it in earnest.
> 
> Thank you all for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

Albus awoke to a horrifying sight. The ring, adorned with a stone of false promises, was still clutched firmly within his hand.

He blinked blearily, trying to adjust to the discomfort that came with sleeping on old, rotting wood. It was another minute before his mind caught up with his instincts and he realized that something was very wrong.

Albus looked down again, just barely able to see the glint of the Resurrection Stone in the gloom of the shack, but this was the artifact that had knocked him out. As soon as he had touched it Albus was forced into unconsciousness.

So why wasn’t he letting go?

The answer came sluggishly, tinted with disbelief. His arm was black.

The disgusting, cloying, Dark magic surrounding the limb hit him in a wave, bringing another flood of nausea to his prone form. Albus forced it down. Whatever it was that had happened to him it was the ring that had caused it.

His arm was _black_ , shriveled and unfeeling, and the only thing Albus could think was _‘I should be dead,’_ over and over until he could finally make sense of that seemingly simple piece of information.

He fumbled in the dark, feeling his way across the floorboards with his non-dominant hand until he finally came upon the familiar presence of his wand. Thinking fast the old man magically pried the ring out of his deadened fingers, taking care to avoid touching it lest he become cursed even further. Instead, he laid the object of his quest on the floor and set about attempting to diagnose whatever affliction Tom had cooked up.

There was no doubt in his mind that this was Tom’s work. Whether or not he was aware of just what stone adorned his family heirloom had yet to be seen. Regardless, whatever the curse was, it seemed it wouldn’t have any further effects beyond the paralysis of his wand arm. But Tom was cruel, he had seen it in the boy’s eyes all those years ago.

No, the curse would certainly spread, perhaps eventually making its way to his heart, but the real question was how much time did he have left?

And why did he have any time left at all?

The suddenness of his mortality finally hit him and Albus found himself collapsing to his knees right beside that _damned ring_.

It was in this frustrated rage that Albus cast a Lumos, brightening the filthy room to an almost unbearable degree. He leaned in on his tired hands and knees to examine the ring before him, rotating it slowly so that he may properly attempt to gauge what had gone wrong.

And something had definitely gone wrong.

Tom may be cruel, but he was no fool. Overconfident as he was, Tom would never allow someone to come in contact with a fragment of his soul and live to tell the tale. In all honesty, the curse which was now slowly devouring him was rather tame for the boy.

It was made to torment rather than to incapacitate.

There must be some explanation, he told himself, some reason for his miraculous survival. The curse could have easily engulfed him seconds rather than days. He had seen the memories, felt that filthy magic from outside, seen the precious ring that Tom had once worn in the halls of Hogwarts, so what was he missing?

Albus had examined Marvolo Gaunt’s memories with the utmost scrutiny, combed through nearly every aspect of Tom Riddle’s life until he was absolutely certain that the boy would have hidden one of his horcruxes here. Specifically the Gaunt Ring, one of the only objects of value that had survived the family’s growing madness and penchant for gambling, the same ring that had appeared on Tom’s finger at the start of his 6th year.

Tom may not have considered the Gaunts family, babbling and insane as they were, but he was immensely prideful of his Slytherin heritage. He had been certain that Tom would place the horcrux here, it was the obvious choice.

_‘Perhaps that was my mistake,’_ he thought. It was too obvious.

But Tom had been barely a boy when he made this horcrux. Albus had seen him wearing the ring during his schooldays, and now he was far too insane, too removed to realize that he had chosen his hiding location poorly.

Albus once again looked down at the remains of his arm. The Dark magic was thick and impenetrable, leaving his hand in a stiffened state of rigor mortis, forever curled around an absent object.

He had to assume that the ring was a horcrux.

Albus gritted his teeth, the light of his Lumos made his face appear terribly ugly as it twisted in anger. He had spent a good portion of his life staying a step ahead, constantly planning for every eventuality, but he had been fooled by so simple a trick. 

There was a very good chance that Tom didn’t even know that the Resurrection Stone adorned his family ring. It was likely he didn’t even know what the Resurrection Stone was, so few actually believed the myths as he did.

But Albus knew; he knew what sort of power the ring was said to possess

He had told no one of his search for Tom’s means of immortality, thus there was no way news of his search had reached him. And yet the undeniable proof of his still beating heart was right in front of him.

He resisted looking at his hand again, lest another wave of hopelessness overcome him. Instead he focused his efforts on examining the ring, praying that there was something he had missed, some hole in the very intricate and punishing curse that only a Dark Lord as twisted as Tom could have created.

The ring spun in midair, glinting beneath the magical light. Albus’ gaze sharpened as he noticed an engraving on the inside of the ring which had certainly not been there before.

_You’ve lost old man_

Albus felt the fake ring crack under the pressure of his magic.

*****

Severus Apparated to a small house in Cokeworth. Despite the pitiful appearance of the building, this was the place he considered home, more so than Prince Manor, and it was this place that he had chosen to return to in light of the recent revelations.

He took a tense breath and exhaled, running an anxious hand through his hair as he sat heavily on one of his ancient couches, actions Severus only permitted because he knew he was alone.

The Dark Lord was sane. He didn’t just have greater restraint or more forethought, he was completely and genuinely _sane_.

Severus had only heard the vaguest of rumors, tales of the Dark Lord attending Hogwarts as a powerful and captivating student. He now knew that those rumors only contained a fraction of the truth. Even when he had first joined the Death Eaters as a pitiful teenager looking to escape his own life Severus hadn’t been that enamored. 

The Dark Lord was like a black hole.

Severus thanked the heavens that he was dismissed as abruptly as he was. He didn’t think he could maintain his composure in front of that presence. Severus, who prided himself on the security of his mind, who could proudly say that he had the greatest skill in Occlumency out of anyone in the world, was a mere child in comparison to his Lord now.

That small conversation had been enough for Severus to discard any half-made plans of rescuing Potter. No amount of subterfuge or cunning would come close to what was needed, especially considering the newest, and perhaps the most shocking, revelation.

Horcruxes

It had taken all of his strength not to speak out when his Lord had explained the concept to him, to not scream in frustration at the utterly justified paranoia that had driven the Dark Lord to split his soul.

Albus’ recent evasiveness was now suddenly much more understandable. If the Headmaster had been hunting for horcruxes then he was likely going through every possible measure to keep news of his search from the Dark Lord.

It was all for naught.

He shivered in remembrance, the dark grin that practically seared his skin when Severus had mentioned the possibility to Albus’ interference. Something had happened, and Severus feared that it may be too late for the Headmaster.

But it wasn’t too late for Harry Potter.

Severus had given a vow to protect the boy to the best of his ability, to atone for his failure in protecting Lily by protecting her son, but even the reassurance that the shard inside the boy would ensure his survival was no consolation.

Harry Potter was trapped in _that manor_ , trapped inside with _that man_ who was neither insane nor impulsive.

He had seen it mere minutes ago. The Dark Lord was patient now. He was confident in his abilities and willing to wait however long it took to get what he wanted.

But what he wanted was the boy.

Severus’ dark eyes bore into the wall, a combination of anger and despair in his gaze. If the Dark Lord wanted Potter’s loyalty, wanted to make a puppet out of him, wanted to break the child until he never even thought of leaving… Harry didn’t stand a chance, and there was _nothing_ he could do about it.

It felt like a betrayal of Lily’s memory.

An angry flick of his wand sent the small table in front of him careening into the nearby wall, though it did nothing to quell his frustration.

There was a small rustling in the direction of the now broken table.

Severus whipped around and drew his wand in the same motion, carefully scanning his surroundings for any signs of the intruder. This was his sanctuary, the only people that knew he owned the property were all long dead, so who was in his house?

The door creaked and in the opening stood none other than Sirius Black.

“Black you miserable fool, what the hell are you doing in my house?”

“Where is he?” Severus forced himself not to react to the obvious and completely true accusation.

“I know you know where he is.” Severus looked the man up and down, sneering at his filthy appearance. He looked as though he had spent the last week living on the streets. In fact, that was probably exactly what he did.

The Potion’s Master gritted his teeth as he spoke. “If you don’t leave right this instant, then I will—“

“ _Don’t lie to me!_ ” The only indication of his shock at Black’s outburst was a slight widening of his eyes. “I can _smell_ him on you! _Where is my godson!_ ”

Black had completely forgone his wand in favor of physically accosting him. Severus found himself pressed against the wall, the front of his cloak grabbed in a desperate death grip while his wand lay nearly forgotten against Black’s neck. The man only seemed to be vaguely aware that the wand was even there.

Severus knew the man was dangerously unstable and capable of great cruelty when the moment struck him; this was the man that had attempted to murder him for nothing more than some foolish prank. That kind of violence was something no amount of Light brainwashing could erase. Despite his actions to the contrary, Sirius was still a Black through and through.

“Please, tell me. Please, I need to see him Severus. _Please_.” This was not the first time he had seen a grown man break down and judging by the recent events it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but there was something strangely discomforting about seeing the man he had dedicated so much of his life to hating begging him for even the smallest scraps of information.

He steeled himself, he could not afford to grow a conscious at this critical point in time. The Dark Lord had explicitly ordered him not to give any information pertaining to Harry’s whereabouts. Even disregarding the oath, to disobey a direct order would be tantamount to suicide and Severus had no intentions of dying for _Black_ of all people.

“For the last time I do not know where your godson is, mutt. Now release me!”

Sirius’ face became disturbingly blank, that should have been his first clue, but quicker than he could have anticipated the man did a partial Animagus transformation, elongating his teeth until they were wickedly sharp.

In the space of a moment Severus went from holding his wand against Black throat, to grasping at his own neck in an effort to stem the bleeding wound that the Animagus had just created.

“You know, most people believe my Animagus form is merely a dog.” Severus slid down the wall, clutching the bleeding gash and running through the many healing spells and potions he knew in his head.

“They’re wrong though. I’m a Grim. As an esteemed Potion’s Master I’m sure you’re already aware that the bite of a Grim is venomous.” Severus did know, but never in the many scenarios he’d envisioned had this even crossed his mind.

“It’s not as fast acting as Basilisk venom, but well,” Black grinned, the blood, _Severus’ blood_ , shining on his teeth. “It’s just as deadly.”

Severus could already feel the tips of his fingers beginning to go numb, even if he managed to make it to his potion’s lab he was in no condition to brew an antidote. He had a few things that could delay the poison, but he doubted Black would allow him to get to them.

His options were alarmingly few and meanwhile Black was standing over him looking madder than ever.

“Now, where is my godson?”

*****

The Dark Lord sat back on his throne listening to one of his Death Eater grunts drone on about information gathering or some such. Inwardly, he was contemplating whether or not it would be worth a loss in credibility to just up and Crucio the man.

He was in that sort of mood.

And it was due in no small part to a boy named Harry Potter. Voldemort thought back to that occasion, the sudden rush of rage at being defied, belayed by amusement at the child’s sheer gall, was still utterly baffling. He supposed that was the price he had to pay for splitting his soul so early in his life, but Voldemort was determined to take full control of his own mind. He would not allow his emotions to rule him.

But the boy had a way of undermining that.

_“Are you kidding me?” The Dark Lord’s eyes narrowed at the flippant tone._

_“I do not_ kid _,” he said, almost spitting out the last word._

_The boy that had appeared to be under his thrall, just a moment away from submission, laughed._

_“Then you must think I’m an idiot.” Voldemort seethed in anger as he watched the boy nearly double over with unrestrained mirth, wiping tears from his eyes. He wondered how the child could seem so nonchalant in his presence. Aside from the fact that his scar was undoubtedly causing him immense pain, the Dark Lord thought that at the very least the sheer magnitude of his magic would be enough to quail the boy._

_But it was not so, and instead Harry was looking comfortable of all things._

_“I’m the boy who lived!” Harry stood up, his cocky expression undermined by the bitterness of his tone. “If that wasn’t enough I’m the heir to the Potter and Black families.”_

_Voldemort froze. Was that true? The fact that he didn’t already know was more infuriating than being told by the Golden Boy himself. If his time in mental limbo had prevented him from knowing the political status of his very own self-proclaimed nemesis than he had more work ahead of him than he thought._

_“Those sheep can smear me in the papers all they want, even they can’t deny me my own birthright.” Voldemort found himself being taken aback when the boy approached him, a strange intensity in his gaze._

_“In a year, when I turn 17, I will have more combined political and monetary power than every single one of your followers combined. People will think me the Merlin himself. So the better question is what are_ you _willing to give_ me _?”_

And the audacious boy had stormed out of the room before the Dark Lord could even get a word in edgewise.

He had watched the child’s retreating back, forcing himself to recall his promise to keep the boy from harm as long as he remained within the manor.

It had been… vexing, but Harry’s logic was irrefutable. 

Upon his 17th birthday the boy would come into his magical inheritance, and with that he would gain the right to petition for Lordship. The Potter family was his by blood, while Sirius Black had ensured that the Black family would be indisputably his as well. One simple trip to Gringotts and Harry Potter would become the wealthiest wizard in Britain, and if the boy’s behavior was any indication he already had an inkling of how the political scene worked as well.

Finally, and most importantly, the boy was indeed the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Voldemort had heard of hundreds of fools that willed their entire fortunes to the child. Money aside, several of the unoccupied seats in the Wizengamot likely belonged to the boy as well.

He would be a fool to make an enemy of him.

The Death Eater meeting continued, his lower level followers once again displaying their incompetence in tasks requiring any subtly whatsoever.

If Voldemort was to move his battle to the political arena then there would have to be a serious culling within his ranks.

But there were far more important issues at hand.

The temporary sanity he had gained from the ring was quickly expiring. It was a constant uphill battle to stave off the incoming disaster that was his own mind. As soon as his mind fell, his body and magic would follow.

In order to prevent that he would need another horcrux as soon as possible.

“All of you leave. Lucius,” the Dark Lord stared at the nearly cowering form of the blonde Malfoy.

“Step forward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Is anyone else noticing parallels between Sirius and Severus?
> 
> The comments you all have been leaving me are absolutely phenomenal and immensely helpful. Please keep it up, leave me any questions, concerns, predictions, etc. you have and know that I read all of them even if I don't always respond. Thank you for reading.


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